


The Truth in Dreams

by bironic



Series: Sestinas by bironic [4]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Dreams, M/M, Poetry, Sestina, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-29
Updated: 2006-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bironic/pseuds/bironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most nights, his leg allows him a few hours of solid sleep. And he dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Vague spoilers for "Meaning" and "Cane and Able"
> 
> Prompts: truth (from daasgrrl), Vicodin, Wilson, dreams, leg, puzzles.

Insomniac, he'll stare at the ceiling pondering truth  
Or watch TV or read or go for a ride or call Wilson.  
Or he'll lie half-conscious after his bedtime Vicodin,  
His mind working, working, solving intricate puzzles  
He forgets by morning. Most nights, though, his leg  
Allows him a few hours of solid sleep. And he dreams.

Some nights, of course, he dreams  
That nothing happened to his leg  
And he's running by the river with Wilson,  
Who never had to write the scrips for Vicodin  
Or convince Cuddy to hide the truth  
To save House from his own puzzles.

Vibrant and whole, he doesn't need puzzles  
Until he wakes and remembers the truth.  
There are nightmares, too—terrifying dreams  
Where he can't make sense of anything or his leg's  
Gone or he's paralyzed and sometimes Wilson  
Is there, laughing, refusing to give him Vicodin.

If he takes an extra Vicodin  
Before going to sleep, his dreams  
Warp and swirl like a face or a leg  
In a fun-house mirror. Senses blend: He tastes truth,  
Sees pain, smells music, hears love, feels puzzles.  
No logic. No boundaries. He is Chase is Stacy is Wilson.

By day he doesn't talk about any of it, not even with Wilson,  
Who'd rather lecture him on his obsession with puzzles,  
His recent quest for meaning and his tireless hunt for truth.  
Besides, Wilson would only play shrink and use his dreams  
To tell him why he's miserable and alone and addicted to Vicodin  
And suffering more pain than he can blame on his leg.

Tonight he wakes slowly to distant sirens, a tingling leg  
And damp sheets. As he gropes in the dark for his Vicodin,  
The visions slip away before the pieces of the puzzle  
Fit together—something about heat, and need, and Wilson,  
And a sense of pure contentment possible only in dreams.  
He downs a pill, hoping to prolong that peace but knowing the truth.

Four a.m. Too late, too early. He rubs his leg and waits for the Vicodin  
To kick in. Pushing aside the puzzle of his friendship with Wilson,  
He tries not to admit that buried truths will surface in dreams.


End file.
